History of Scy'kadia
OOC note: This timeline is what an average mortal in Scy'kadia recognizes as a true but simple history. Though told from a Human perspective, the longer-lived races (such as Elves) are often extremely insular, so it is debatable if they would know much more beyond their own rarely-changing realms and personal concerns. The dates are recorded under BF (Before Founding) and MR (By Mureth's Reckoning). Foreword Born to the race of Humanity, I freely admit to a certain bias, not to mention several gaping chasms within my vast field of knowledge! For you see, the reclusive and oft hostile nature of our inhuman neighbors tends to breed disinterest or outright contempt in the minds of human scholars. Thus, the accumulation of detailed and factual accounts, as pertains to them, can be sadly… vexing. In conclusion, please don’t assume the following rambles to be “all there is” of our fair Scy’kadia’s epic and nuanced tale. These are but learned assumptions, told from a decidedly Human perspective. Alas, alas, alas… Warmest regards, Ged (Exiled Murethi Historian, Gederan Jo'vurst) The Time Of Teeth And Talons (Unknown - 2313BF) At the dawning... all mortals were as beasts, driven by survival and base desire. In time, the worship of primitive spirits gave birth to language and community, but little more. For at such time civilization was unattainable, beset by savagery. Into this wild age strode the Weftyril, of whom next to nothing is now known. These strangers, already advanced well beyond the dreams of modern minds, came from a place outside of Geth. They sought the secrets of our world, wishing to bind them in chains of power and possibility. Thus was Magic first unveiled across Scy’kadia. Through arcane experimentation the Weftyril forged an empire; yet, in so doing, they planted the seeds of disaster. Their dabbling allowed Magic, Geth’s very soul, to develop awareness. Captivity drove Magic mad, it’s impossibly vast thoughts growing splintered with shards of vengeful ambition. We know these manifest fragments as Demons. An infernal tide took form, rippling out from the Weftyril empire, consuming all in it’s path. Wonder turned to horror and the mortal races fled into hiding, clinging desperately to their last precious moments of existence. Beholding what they had wrought, the Weftyril were aggrieved. They began preparations for the greatest sorcerous ritual ever invoked. A new plane of reality was fashioned, a shadow realm in which the Demons would be imprisoned, unable to sate their endless lust for chaos and destruction. This realm would come to be called Ruin. As the ritual reached a crescendo, the Weftyril themselves were cast into Ruin, along with most of their empire, utterly destroyed. Silence and broken towers were all that remained of a godlike people. Did they know the ultimate price of such an endeavor? Did they willingly sacrifice themselves for those of us who would follow? Who can say? The Time Of Waking Gods (2312BF - 2200BF) As the dust of self-annihilation settled, mortal kind emerged from hiding, wary of what they would find. Their fear was not unfounded, for the ritual of Ruin had been left incomplete. Packs of Demons yet roamed Scy’kadia. All who crossed their path were devoured, their souls drawn into Ruin. Mortal cries stained the winds… two curiosities gave answer. First, several mighty spirits took form. Long had mortals prayed to them in ignorance and thus did they come to defend their venerators. Those great entities, we now revere as the Gods. Second, having reclaimed it’s sanity, Magic sought out beings through which to channel it’s desire for healing and equilibrium... it chose the Elves. Through dreams and visions, Elven seers learned much of art and many worldly secrets; some, it is said, even the Weftyril had failed to discover. They came to know Magic by a new name. Taeyaloo. The voice of Geth. With unbound Magic and the Gods beside them, the mortals pushed back, driving the remaining Demons into Ruin. Learning of the souls already stolen by Demonic predation, the Gods ventured deep into the heart of Ruin, fighting to rescue their lost followers. Alas, against the seething hellish hordes, they knew their power would not be enough. As proof of this terrible fact, one fledgling deity was devoured and another forever crippled, forcing their comrades to retreat. Refusing to abandon hope, the Gods undertook a final gambit for the sake of mortal kind. They crafted eight ethereal realms, each aligned to it’s divine creator, each a paradise, acting as antithesis to the desecration of Ruin. To these holy domains, the souls of worthy acolytes would flock upon their earthly demise. Such was their plan. Utterly spent by corporeal struggle, the Gods retired to their Divine Holds… … leaving Scy’kadia to the guardianship of the Elves. The Time Of Elfdom (2199BF - 1422BF) Unopposed in glory, the Elves spread far and wide, shaping a new arcane empire. Unlike the Weftyril, the Elves aimed not to control Magic, but to form a symbiosis. Thus was High Magic devised; a reliable, long-lasting, and mostly benevolent discipline of spellcraft. Through it’s use the Elves built many wonders… floating towers and cities that merged with their surrounds, enormous living sculptures, charms of incredible potency… As their supremacy over the rest of Scy’kadia grew, so too did their arrogance. They became uncaring of non-Elven affairs. So it was that the Orcs began to gather, their shamans guided by the Narga, nine Demon lords newly ascended from the roiling madness of Ruin. The Elves knew naught of their peril. The Time Of Bloody Tears (1421BF - 965BF) The Orcish legions boiled forth. Sheer numbers and Demonically gifted sorcery overwhelmed the Elves, smashing their empire to pieces. One by one the sky towers fell, their hidden cities were uprooted and put to the torch. It seemed that nothing could halt the eradication of Magic’s chosen people. Enter Humanity. Guided by the now distant Gods, Humanity chose to stand before Elfdom and it’s doom. The Human tribes more than made up for Orcish numbers and at last the Elves were given a reprieve; time enough to prepare their most harrowing spells, to unleash them upon the Orcs, stripping the brutes of their Ruinous boons. The Orc tide crumbled. In the face of defeat infighting grew rife, as deeply rooted animosity resurfaced. The surviving hordes, of which there were many, ravaged each other, scattering to the far corners of Scy’kadia. The largest wave fled northward, fighting it’s way into the Thunder Peaks, crashing down upon the isolated Dwarven kingdoms. Much bloodshed ensued beneath the mountains. Alas, both Humans and Elves had been greatly punished by war. They did not pursue, nor lend aid to the bearded folk. It was a time of deep sorrow. Lives lost, glory shattered, enmity born. Worse was yet to come. The Time Of Embers (964BF - 587BF) Having witnessed the breaking of the Narga’s Orcish armies, the race of Dragons chose this time to emerge. Swarming from the Isle Of Sulphur, they descended on their weakened bipedal neighbors, flaming nightmares made flesh. Grasping at the last pieces of their decimated empire, the Elves put their trust in Humanity and gifted many heroes with magically imbued tools of war. To others they taught the secrets of complex spellcraft. Little did they suspect that Human selfishness would one day turn their efforts to ash. Nor did the Elves offer instruction to the Dwarves, perceiving their late involvement in the last war as a grave insult. In years to come this decision would prove a deadly sore point between the two long-lived cultures. The Human mages proved quick students, their short life spans lending them unusual adaptability. Yet they could not achieve the subtlety required for High Magic. Their every attempt bore signs of clumsiness. They lusted for control, not partnership and craved power without thought for the consequences. Despite these initial warning signs, magically armed Humans slew Dragons by the score, convincing the reptilian monsters that their time of dominance had not yet come to pass. They vanished, returning to their poisonous isle or concealing themselves in hidden lairs. As the Draconic threat broodingly subsided, the Elves noticed rivalries forming amongst their victorious Human allies. Too late they came to see their erred judgment. They had made Humanity too powerful. Foreseeing imminent conflict, the Elves went into seclusion… … abandoning Humanity to self destruction. The Time Of Mage Blight (586BF - 0MR) Just as predicted, the tribes of Humanity turned on one another. Selfish wizard kings arose from the masses to subjugate their mundane kin, driving Humanity into generation-spanning struggles wherein petty grudges were oft settled by earth shattering sorcery. The outcome of these feuds was always the same. Suffering, slavery, death. Foolhardy mages, seeking to outmaneuver their opponents, made matters worse by raising armies of Orcs and strange monsters, promising wealth and plunder in exchange for tentative loyalty. They dabbled in necromancy, summoned horrific plagues, ensnared powerful spirits and diabolical fiends. The most desperate or insane even made pacts with the Narga. For the downtrodden non-magical masses of Humanity, this was the final straw. Orders devoted to the eradication of spellcasters emerged. Several Gods lent direct assistance to these Mage hunters, deeming their quest an unfortunate necessity. Thus did the wizard kings find themselves pursued, not by their rivals, but by those who once served them. It is assumed that some escaped these purges, forming secretive cabals and isolated realms. None the less, through sacrifice and faith Humanity freed itself from the yoke of open magical oppression. To prevent a resurgence of such terrible rulers, all found records of the wizard kings themselves were burned. As such, the exact truth of their reign is unknown, shrouded in myth and retold as precautionary tales. Likewise, though wreckage remains, much knowledge of their kingdoms is now lost. Let us not forget that it was the Dwarves who enacted the final scheme of this time. Sickened by the havoc sorcery had wrought, they took it upon themselves to pluck Magic from the world. With the help of their God, Fundun, they combined runic binding techniques with Weftyril machines thought vanished. The result… an arcane siphon anchored deep in the heart of Ruin. The Vortex, as they named it, was unable to trap Magic entirely, yet it’s constant draining presence challenged the permanence of spells. Ancient wards began to unravel, charms designed to last millennia were stripped to mere centuries, even decades, of use. Magic is now weakened, it’s energies fade into Ruin. The eternal rituals of yore are no longer possible, nor will they be again. This, the Elves can never truly forgive. The Time Of Founding (1MR - 473MR) Freed from the tyranny of arcane overlords, the first sparks of technological progress rose to fill the gap left by Magic’s diminishment. Humans swept across Scy’kadia, leaving cities in their wake. Realms arose, only to fall once more, victims of hubris… until two enduring nations climbed from the heap, each a claimant for the total governance of Humanity. Arkhos and Thaedia. As the reformation of Human culture took place, inhuman racial tempers, long left to simmer, boiled over… Elves clashed with Dwarves. Dwarves fought with Orcs. Orcs preyed on everyone within reach. Most of the last remaining Dwarf holds in the Thunder Peaks were overrun by Orcs and fouler beasts. The Elves cast out their Ruinous kindred. Such are the reasons why Elves and Dwarves refer to this age as The Time Of Betrayal. Unaffected by this inhuman strife, Arkhos and Thaedia continued to thrive. Those who stood against them were swept aside, crushed underfoot as their lands were absorbed. Coming face to face at last, both civilizations prepared for jealous and devastating war. Unbeknownst, a third claimant had appeared; a menacing rival to their knightly battalions and legionnaire cohorts, devoted to the ideal of conquering not just the living... but death itself… … The Pharidae Union. The Time Of Warring Giants (474MR - 594MR) Largely ignored by their clashing rivals, the Pharidae marched an undead host out of the Bone Dust Desert, enslaving all in their path. At the head of the unholy mass rode Tomb Prince Kalomesch, a wizard king wrongfully thought destroyed in ages past, his incredible necromantic will bent toward the oppression of all life. United in mutual abhorrence, Arkhos and Thaedia threw themselves at the invaders. The war was protracted and treacherous. It engulfed those regions surrounding The Weft, before bleeding outward. Several young realms were dragged into the fray, only to be torn apart. Exotic spells rent the battlefields, animating the slain, transforming the landscape. Luckily, against all odds and after more than a century of constant horror, it was the alliance of the living who achieved victory. The cost was unspeakable. In defying their accursed foe, both Arkhos and Thaedia were bled dry. The survivors turned homeward, too worn to concern themselves with subjugating the lands they had warred upon. In the wake of their withdrawal, smaller nations saw the chance to stake a claim on Scy’kadia. As rats beneath the toes of wounded giants, they made their moves with subtlety and caution, unwilling to risk open conflict and fearful of the still-considerable wrath of their battered neighbors. An unexpected and tenuous peace ensued. Thus were the modern realms of Scy’kadia brought to be. The Time Of Uncertainty (595MR - 650MR) This is where we find ourselves. The here and the now. Arkhos and Thaedia work to regain their lost strength… yet others stand in their shadow, dreaming of ascendancy. Of these potential usurpers, Frael, Vylkland, Mureth and Lo’Quai stand tallest amongst them. Nor are the inhuman realms idle. For the first time in over a millennia Elves venture forth in great numbers, as do the isolationist Dwarves. Orcs gather to their banners of infernal conquest and the Dragons stir in their fiery slumber. Even the less populous races, they who move unseen among us, heed the call to make their mark upon history. Stranger still, visitors claiming origin beyond the seas arrive sporadically, bringing more questions than answers… What brings about such tumult? Hear now the reason. Prophets whisper that gold and glory await in The Weft. Relics have begun to resurface; tools left by the Gods and their servants in the first great war, weapons abandoned by the demon lords in their flight, items of immeasurable power from each phase of history… power enough to immortalize their bearers, to bring wealth beyond measure, to crush every opponent! Representatives of each race, nation, and creed flock to the spell-haunted site. In turn, frontier towns and tavern forts spring up like weeds along the borderlands, attracting all manner of rogues, cutthroats, mercenaries, would be heroes, and monsters. Yet there is even more troubling news facing the onrushing pilgrims… … the old Weftyril portals are starting to open! What this means, none yet know. Whatever comes, it will surely change the face of Scy’kadia forever. This is a time of uncertainty indeed, though there is much to gain for those craving advantage; over rivals, over foes, over the Gods themselves. Destiny awaits us all. We have but to grasp it!